The Hobbit: A Most Peculiar Adventure
by LittleGoldenWolf
Summary: When a half-blood Seer wakes with no memory in a field near Hobbiton, she finds herself seeking shelter with a Mr Bilbo Baggins. Despite not knowing anything about her, Bilbo sees it as his duty to take care of her, no matter what dangers may come their way.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone!**

 **This is a replacement chapter as the last one had a few grammatical mistakes and the formatting wasn't what I wanted, hopefully this will be easier to read for you.**

 **I've been hidden away dealing with some family issues, but I'm back at least for the moment. I have a lot going on at present, so please don't expect regular updates, however I've been writing this for a while now and I've finally got this chapter how I like it so I wanted to share it with you all. To put my writing progress in perspective for you, I've written more for chapter 7 of this story than I have for chapter 3. But bare with me, I will be back.**

 **I love your opinions! This is a personal project of mine, and I desperately want our boys to live! So yes, spolier, the line of Durin lives on.**

 **Please let me know what you think, it really makes my day to hear from you all.  
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 **The Hobbit: A Most Peculiar Adventure**

 **Chapter 1**

There was a big, round door just up ahead of me. The charming wooden gate and smooth flagstone steps that lead up to the door were unfamiliar to me, and therefore I was hesitant to walk up them, yet I knew I needed to speak with someone, for I needed to know where I was.

A soft, warm light shone through small circular windows either side of the door into the darkness of the night that surrounded me. Now that I was closer, I could see that the door was a beautiful deep green. There were little round nails decorating the door, and a single round brass handle in the very centre. All in all I thought it was a very handsome door.

Timidly, I rapped my knuckles against the wood, hoping those inside were not asleep or eating. I really didn't want to disturb anyone, but I needed to find somewhere to sleep and something to eat. Then, I could hear the faint sounds of footsteps. Giving a cautionary glance over my shoulder, I found no one, so it must have come from inside.

The door opened and out spilled more of that glowing light onto the cold stone I stood upon. My bare feet suddenly looked orange in the light, as if my skin was on fire. My musings were cut short when I heard a shocked gasp.

Looking up, I saw that the person in the doorway also had bare feet, but his were large and hairy. He wore a patchwork robe over what I assumed to be his night clothes and I automatically felt guilty. Had I interrupted his bath? Or supper? Or even sleep?

"P-pardon me sir," I said, hoping I was being polite enough, not too sure what the protocol was for knocking on someone's door in the middle of the night. "But, could you possibly tell me where I am?"

He made a funny sound, almost a gasp and an exclamation of disbelief all at once. At the same time, his big green eyes widened, his brown, bushy eyebrows disappeared into his curly fringe and his mouth hung agape.

Suddenly, he seemed to remember my question because he straightened, closing his mouth with a sharp click that I was sure actually hurt, righted his robe and bowed slightly.

"Pardon me miss," he began, his tone pleasant if a little wary. "You are in Hobbiton, which resides in the Shire, and my name is Bilbo Baggins. How may I help you?"

The Shire? Hobbiton? These words sparked no memories in my mind. I was without any knowledge or understanding as to where I was. Worse still, I had to face the worrying uncertainty of not knowing who I was.

"Miss?" Came the tentative call from Mr Baggins. "Are you all right?"

He was leaning forward through the curved doorway, his head tilted to one side as he observed me. The light coming from behind him brought with it a warmth, and it was then that I realised how cold I was. I shook slightly, indulging in the urge to wrap my warms around myself.

"I apologise Mr Baggins I-I don't seem to know…" I paused and took a deep breath, rubbing my arms slightly to strive off the chill and panic that was slowly filling me. "I appear to be lost."

Sniffing as a strong wind blew past me, I looked apologetically at Mr Baggins, hoping he would help me. I was too tired to try and find help elsewhere at the moment.

"L-Lost? Oh, of course, please come in. And you're cold, well of course you're cold, silly me. Come in, we need to get you next to the fire, you're practically blue!" He exclaimed, ushering me into the warmth of his home.

Thankful, I crossed the threshold into his house, instantly feeling the warmth prickle my icy skin. The rug beneath my feet felt different, it was a different sensation from soil, cobbles or stone, it was soft and comforting. The fibres were smooth with age, yet rough in contrast to the worn stone I'd been stood on moments before.

"Here," he said after shutting the large round door behind us. "Follow me miss and we'll have you warm in no time at all. Would you like a cup of tea? As it happens I've just made myself one."

"Umm, y-yes I would like that very much Mr Baggins, thank you," I answered, finding a half memory of a cup of hot liquid being offered to me materialising in my mind.

He smiled, however he managed to do so with a touch of nervousness. Was he worried about what his wife might think? Bringing a strange girl into their house in the darkness of night? Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea?

"I'm terribly sorry if I interrupted your nightly habits Mr Baggins." I spoke softly for fear of waking a sleep child. "If you would rather I left I would completely understand."

Mr Baggins came to an abrupt halt just as we entered a cosy room aglow with the amber light of a cheerful fire which was sitting in a hearth below a large, ornate wooden mantle.

"Leave?" He questioned as he processed the word.

I nodded. "Yes, I mean, I wouldn't want to disturb you and your family."

He blinked again before smiling and shaking his head.

"Nothing to worry about, it's just me here I'm afraid. Just me."

"Oh."

"So you really aren't disturbing anyone, in fact, your knock stopped me from falling asleep in my chair again." He declared while pointing to a straight backed, light green armchair by the fire. "Speaking of which, if you'd like to take a seat miss?"

Slowly, I lowered myself into the offered seat, a smaller, darker and softer looking armchair across from his own. Once I was seated, Mr Baggins smiled and produced a thick, dark blanket from a chest near the wall by a little arching window opposite the fireplace, which he then draped over my knees with the utmost sense of propriety.

"There we are." He smiled at me as if I had helped to accomplish something grand. "I'll just get you a cup of tea and then you can tell me how you came to be lost, yes?"

I nodded, glad I'd managed to knock on the door of someone so kind. Mr Baggins left with a smile and a soft instruction to try and warm up as best I could. Looking down at my slightly shaking hands, I realised that the beds of my nails were blue. I was positive they were supposed to be pink. I must really be blue with cold like Mr Baggins said.

Though I shouldn't be for much longer as the heat from the fire next to me was starting to seep into my bones like water soaks cloth. It was a little painful, the prick of the heat feeling like a thousand tiny blades piercing my skin. I half wanted to move away from the fire, but something told me to stay put, that the pain was my frozen limbs thawing. I wasn't quite sure how I knew this, I just did. Like I could identify objects around the room, a bookcase here, a loveseat there, and the bucket of logs beside my seat. Yet I struggled to remember events wherein I used or even encountered such, or any other, objects. Apart from the tea.

Speaking of, I could hear the faint clatter of crockery just as Mr Baggins entered the room. He was carrying two small cups and saucers carefully along with a plate of biscuits, and a brown teapot on a little wooden tray.

"Here," he said as he rested the tray on a small, level topped footstool between our chairs. "I wasn't sure what type of tea you liked so I thought a simple mint tea would do for now. And I found some pieces of shortbread from when my aunt last visited, thought you might like something to eat too."

"Thank you Mr Baggins." I smiled, completely charmed by his generosity.

"Please, call me Bilbo," he answered congenially. "What should I call you miss?"

I blinked, unable to recall my name, my title, or any word that may have ever been used to address me.

"I don't know."

Bilbo froze, stunned. "You, you don't know?" He questioned, continuing to blink in shock.

I could only shake my head, frantically scrambling for a reason why I didn't know. I couldn't find anything, nothing, not even a glimmer of a memory.

Looking up, I found Bilbo pursing his lips, I half thought he'd say I was lying. Instead, he surprised me by leaning forward, his elbows on his knees and a soft, patient expression on his face.

"If I might ask miss, how did you come to knock on my door?" He asked gently.

"Oh." I wasn't expecting him to ask that. "Well, the first thing I remember is waking up and seeing the stars staring back at me. I was lay back on dewy grass by a hedgerow, there was holly in the hedge. I remembered seeing it somewhere, it's a dark green colour, isn't it?"

He smiled then, not as if I were a child stating something obvious, but as if I had noticed a small detail no one else had.

"Holly, yes, yes it is, that's right," he said, small dimples appearing beside the corner of his lips. "I wanted my door to be holly green, it was painted yesterday. What else do you remember?"

"Well, there was a slight light in the distance I noticed once I'd stood, so I managed to climb under the hedge and find a road to follow the light. There was no one around me, not even an animal. No bags, or even my shoes," I explained, looking at my bare feet as pain began to ebb from them.

It was then that I realised the dress I was wearing was a deep red, delicately embroidered with gold and holly green thread. The sleeves were long, reaching my wrists but they were also torn and dirty. But it was the bottom of my dress that drew my attention, for it had been ripped and shredded until the hem ended a few inches above my ankles. My exposed legs were littered with scratches and bruises.

"What happened to me?" My words were a whisper in the quiet of the room.

I shook myself, remembering that I had not finished telling Bilbo how I came to find his home, and so continued,

"Once I was on the road, I followed it towards the light, coming to a couple of homes in the hillside. However there was no light from within them so I carried on. Yours was the first I had come across that had a light."

Bilbo stared at me as I finished my tale, his mouth hanging open a little as he did.

"And, and do you remember anything else? Anything at all?" He asked, looking throughly intrigued by my story.

"Nothing except when you offered me a cup of tea, I remembered a cup of tea being handed to me. But I do not know who by, or where I was," I explained truthfully, feeling inadequate of my feeble answer.

However, Bilbo seemed contemplative, humming to himself as he leant back in his armchair and took a sip of his tea.

"That is quite the story."

I nodded, sighing. Warming up was starting to awaken aches and pains I did not know I had. The injuries on my legs stung, there was a dull ache ebbing from my back and a harsh throbbing pain from my head, not forgetting the numbness now settling in my feet. If I had known being warm would involve such discomforts, I would have preferred to stay cold.

"Well," Bilbo continued. "I believe I might be able to answer one or two questions if you cannot my dear."

Any pain I felt faded into the back of my mind at this.

"You do?" I asked eagerly.

He nodded, smiling. "It seems to me that you have Dwarf blood."

"Dwarf?"

Again he nodded. "Yes, you have the right build, height. Though I must admit I didn't know Dwarves could have hair as curly as yours. I mean, if it wasn't for your feet, I could have said you were a…Hobbit." Bilbo paused and watched me with deep concentration.

Under his gaze I nervously reached up to touch my hair. He was right, it was curly and, bringing a piece around to see, it was a deep golden colour, almost exact to the amber light that had lead me to Bilbo's door.

Satisfied that I knew a little more about myself, I tucked the piece of hair behind my ear. Then paused again when I heard Bilbo gasp.

"What is it Bilbo?"

"Your ear."

"W-what about it?"

"You, you have Hobbit ears!" He exclaimed.

Frowning, I bit my lip.

"But, you said I was a Dwarf?"

He nodded, eyes fixed on my exposed ear intently.

"Perhaps, yes, you do bare a remarkable resemblance to Dwarves. However, your curly hair and pointed ears are undoubtably that of a Hobbit!"

"So," I began, fighting around the shady image in my mind of a stout figure I presumed was typical of dwarves and what I could see of Bilbo now. Who, upon further inspection, had curly hair and pointed ears. "You are a Hobbit?"

"Oh!" Bilbo snapped upright in his seat. "Yes, yes I am."

"Do you believe I could be…is there a name for a half Dwarf-half hobbit?" I asked tentatively.

Bilbo's gaze grew sympathetic. "There isn't, but yes my dear, I do believe you are one."

At this new development I sat back, aghast at what I had learned in such a short amount of time. To wake with nothing but the knowledge to follow the light on the horizon, and to now have a half identity was staggering to say the least. The pain in my head was thumping away like the beat of my heart but I tried to ignore it as I watched Bilbo, who had now forgotten about his cooling tea and was instead staring at me with a thoughtful expression.

"Bilbo? Are you all right?" I leaned forward to ask him, reaching for my own cup of tea, the heat instantly warming my stiff fingers.

"Hum?" He blinked away his stray thoughts, frowning a little.

"I asked if you were all right."

"Oh, yes, yes, I'm fine thank you." His polite sensibilities seeming to be an automatic response regardless of his actual thoughts and feelings.

At my sceptical look he sighed. "It's just…something is bothering me."

"What is it?"

Again he sighed, deeper now as if he was fortifying himself for unpleasant news.

"You woke alone, correct? Without so much as a coin?" He asked.

I nodded, truthfully a little worried where his questioning was leading.

"It's just Dwarves, and I've only met a few dwarves in my life, and what else I know has come from my books…but Dwarves by their very nature are protective of their own. This includes their women." He shifted nervously. "It is unheard of, unknown even, for a Dwarrowdam, that is a female dwarf, to be left alone."

Bilbo looked saddened with his revelation, but I was only confused.

"So, so, they don't leave women by themselves? Ever?"

He shook his head. "As far as I am aware my dear."

"But they left me," I stated sadly.

How could what Bilbo have said be true if they left me alone? Bilbo sighed and I could see that he was upset that he would be the one to break the news to me. He leant forward, setting his cup on the tea tray before reaching for my hands. Laying a hand on my own, the warmth from his hand was soothing against the ache that lingered in my bones.

"They might not have," he said. "Maybe something happened outside of their power, and they had no choice but to leave you?"

I bit my lip and sniffed back the unexpected swell of tears that welled up in my eyes.

"Maybe," I said, my voice quiet in the stillness of the room.

Bilbo patted my hand and then leant back into his chair, a soft smile on his face.

"But you are also a Hobbit!" Bilbo exclaimed happily. "And I have to say that once everyone gets a look at you, they will never want you to leave the Shire!"

"What makes you say that?" I asked, sniffing again.

Bilbo smiled, the lines around his eyes softening them until his gaze felt as warm as the fire we sat by.

"Simple really, Hobbits love other Hobbits. We are naturally a community based species who thrive together. When they all see that there is another Hobbit in our midst, and an unfamiliar one at that, why I doubt you will have a moment to yourself."

I couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of being surrounded by Hobbits, variations of Bilbo with large feet and friendly dispositions, all of whom I guessed would pepper me with questions.

Questions I did not know the answers to. Questions I sorely needed to know the answers to. Even just so I knew who I was.

Bilbo must have seen my despondent thoughts on my face for he frowned and leaned closer again.

"What is it?" He asked ardently.

"They will ask questions, as is their right to know what I am and where I've come from because I am a stranger in their home. Though, I'm ashamed to say that I'm afraid that not everyone will be as openminded as you are Bilbo," I explained, feeling more lost with every word I spoke. "I don't even known my own name!"

Suddenly, absent of thirst or hunger, I set my cup back down and my hands began to worry at the fabric of my dress in my lap. My mind was too full of fear and dread to think of manners at that particular moment. What would they say when they discovered I knew nothing about myself? Surely it would raise suspicions? How could anyone possibly trust me if I do not even know my own name?

But then, I looked at Bilbo.

Bilbo trusted me enough, even before he had asked what my name was, to invite me into his home without ill intentions. Maybe, just maybe, there were others like him. And perhaps they would accept me just as he has.

All this time Bilbo had been patiently waiting as I sorted through my thoughts. He sat, quite calmly, in his armchair looking for all the world like someone having tea with an old friend.

"What am I going to tell people Bilbo?" I asked the quiet Hobbit, starting to panic about what I would face in the morning. "What am I to do? I have no money, no clothes, nowhere to stay and nowhere to go!"

"Now that isn't true," Bilbo was quick to add.

"Pardon?"

"You can stay here, that is, if you would like," he offered, suddenly looking a little shy at his sudden proposal.

"S-stay here? With you?" I questioned.

"Yes, I mean, it is the very least I can do for someone in need. Certainly a fellow Hobbit!" Bilbo exclaimed, with every word looking more and more involved with the idea brewing in his mind.

I rather felt like the chair beneath me had given way to a bottomless pit in the earth and I was falling completely without control.

"B-Bilbo, you, you c-cannot be serious?" I stuttered, wondering if all Hobbits were this odd and brash.

He'd only just met me moments ago, neither of us knew my name nor who I was and all of the implications that might come with this uncertainty were unvoiced, yet he was willing to offer me a place to stay in his home. This was bizarre, even I knew inviting a stranger to stay wasn't normal, nor was it a recommended thing when encountering such a situation as this. For all he knew I could kill him in his sleep! Not that I would! But he couldn't be sure of that.

"I'm completely serious, you are a young Hobbit, if only by half, alone without anywhere to go and without anyone to turn to. It would be against everything I was raised to be if I were to turn you away! My, not only that, but I would never be able to live with myself when I ignored someone who needed help. I can offer you help, I want to offer you help, so I shall," he said, nodded decisively. "I will hear no more on the subject."

I suddenly found myself sniffing, not because of the rapid change in temperatures my body had experienced, but because of Bilbo's touching speech.

"Thank you Bilbo, thank you so very much," I whispered, unable to stop the couple of tears that spilled over onto my cheeks.

Bilbo smiled and leaned forward to squeeze my hand gently. Smiling back at him, I wiped my face and sniffed again.

"Well, it seems our tea has gone cold," Bilbo huffed, looking only a little put out by this.

I smiled at his small pout, his round features illuminated cheerfully by the firelight as he contemplated our tea. He felt the round, earth brown teapot, then sighed happily.

"Not to fear," he said happily. "Still warm in the pot."

I laughed wetly. "Perfect."

Bilbo took both my lukewarm tea and his own half finished mug and added a little of the hot tea. He handed mine back and held out the plate of biscuits in offering. The shortbreads were stout slices of a golden, crumbly biscuit. Along the top of each were rows of four dots, spaced evenly along the entire length, as if made by a fork. I suddenly had the vague image of standing at someone's elbow as they pressed a fork to make these marks onto a pale dough on a wooden countertop. We were making the same biscuit. The person, the woman, beside me smelled of sugar, apples and spices. I had been happy, I could feel the memory of emotion warming me form somewhere inside my chest.

"Miss?" I could hear Bilbo ask tentatively. "Are you all right?"

I nodded, I was better than all right! I had remembered something!

"Yes, yes I'm fine Bilbo," I answered quickly, smiling. "I'm fine, I actually, I just had a memory. I-I remembered something!"

"Really?" Suddenly his eyes were wide and a smile blossomed on his face.

"Yes, it was, I was by someone's side. They, she, I think was making shortbread. She was pressing a dough with a fork to make marks like the ones on the shortbread." I indicated to the plate now held frozen in Bilbo's grip as he waited wide eyed for me to finish. "I could smell apples and sugar and spices, I think I was in a kitchen, one I knew, I felt…oh Bilbo, I felt happy there, safe and so, so happy."

I couldn't have contained the smile on my face even if I tried. Bilbo looked much the same. I'd remembered something, and it was more than just a flash of tea being handed to me.

"You see," Bilbo said warmly, almost…proudly. "You'll have your memories back in no time!"

At that moment I couldn't help but feel the same, I hoped beyond reason that the rest of my memories came back as easily. I surely wanted to know who I was, and what I was doing bare footed on the edges to Hobbiton. More than anything, I longed to know my name, something that identified me as me, not just a Dwarf-Hobbit hybrid.

That also bothered me, as here I sat in what I could deduce was a once expensive gown, without so much as a ring left as a clue to any matter of my past, and there had been no one banging on Bilbo's door asking if he had seen me. Surely someone was looking for me? What Bilbo said earlier about Dwarves puzzled me. If I was one of their own, then they would not have left me in the middle of nowhere, could they? Surely I meant something to someone? Someone must miss me, mustn't they?

I refused to believe that I had just been abandoned. If I had a family, for surely I must have one as I am sure I did not just appear from thin air, they cannot have purposefully left me on a field somewhere. There had to be a reason for my being alone.

Something must have happened that was beyond their control. Like Bilbo had said, of course.

Content in the surety of this, I sipped my warm tea, letting the heat from the mug, liquid and the fire chase away any lingering chill in my being. Upon eating some of the delectable shortbread, I found my stomach growled with hunger, making noises I did not know it could make. Bilbo, rather than being disturbed by the noises, chuckled and handed me more biscuits. Finally, after seven of the biscuits and a cup more of tea, I felt sleepy, and the warmth was like a comforting embrace for me to fall asleep within. Bilbo must have noticed my relaxed figure as he smiled and nodded knowingly.

"I can understand if you feel tired, warmth does that, and especially if you have been cold for a while," he remarked. "I will make sure the guest room has everything you might need, and then I think I will retire to bed myself."

He stood, placing his now empty mug onto the wooden tray.

"I won't be a moment," he reassured me before smiling and vanishing through the doorway behind his armchair.

Alone again, I felt different. Before when I had happened upon Bilbo's door I had been alone, but now the solitude felt…odd. It was as if I had only just realised that something was missing. Not missing from the atmosphere, as Bilbo's home, as far as I had seen, was inviting and cheerful and all that I could want after waking to blackness and the dewy grass of an unnamed field. No, something was missing from me. I was without a part, a…vital piece of, of my being. I had no other way to describe it other than that.

I didn't know what, but I was missing something and it wasn't just my memories.

The sudden pop of the fire jolted me from my thoughts. Now wasn't the time to dwell on that which I cannot change. I could leave such things until tomorrow when I could start over, and who knows, I might dream of my memories if I was lucky.

Bilbo took that moment to reenter the room, his brown curls slightly dishevelled.

"Everything is ready if you wish to retire," he spoke softly and unsurely.

I was confident that, as welcoming as Bilbo was, he was not used to strange women turning up at his doorstep with no memory and nowhere to go. This was as strange to him as it was to me. For some reason his nervousness settled the battle of guilt and uncertainty in my head. It was endearing that he was, despite his uncertainty, willing to help me. I could only hope to return the gesture of kindness one day.

"Yes, thank you Bilbo I think I will," I said, standing.

I replaced my cup of tea to the tray on the footstool and then folded up the blanket Bilbo had settled over my knees. It was a soft wool that sparked memories of the same sensation. Bilbo smiled gratefully when I replaced the blanket to the chest he had taken it from earlier.

"Thank you," he said. "You know miss, I have not had such a thoughtful guest in a long time."

I felt so warm now that the smile that graced my lips at his words felt lush and easy.

"Thank you Bilbo, I can only hope to be of use around your home, if only to lighten the burden of my presence here."

"Burden?" Bilbo spluttered. "You are no such thing! You are my guest, and you do not need to do anything to compensate me for letting you stay. I will not have you thinking you are indebted to me."

I was glad for his words, but he was wrong in the fact that I wasn't indebted to him, I was. It was a simple truth, but a truth nonetheless. But his words made me decide against taking the tea tray back into the kitchen, which I was sure I could find, and washing up.

"Thank you Bilbo."

He nodded, satisfied. "Now, if you'll follow me, I'll show you were you'll be staying. I hope it is to your tastes. If it isn't, let me know what changes you would like and I'll do my best to perform them."

"Oh, Bilbo I am sure I will love it," I assured him, humbled that Bilbo wanted me to feel comfortable and at home in someone else's home.

He lead me through a door to the left of the fireplace, into a hall Bilbo informed me was called the East Hall, and that we had just left the parlour. As we walked, he pointed out the kitchen, which was next to the parlour as I had expected. Then, we entered a grand looking space, much more than a hallway, and I thought that the title Atrium, that Bilbo supplied, suited it rather well. To the left was an archway leading to the sitting room, and to the right, the pantry and behind that were two cellars, a wine cellar and a cold cellar. Further ahead to the left was a door leading to the study, which Bilbo told me connected to his bedroom, should I need him. Another beautifully carved archway gave way to the West Hall, with a small passage to a storage room to the immediate right after entry to the hall. To the left was a passage leading to the back door after another archway, and then the hall divided into two, the right towards a back room, and the left to the guest room.

"Or, perhaps we should call it your room?" Bilbo asked hesitantly.

I couldn't control my smile if I'd even attempted to.

"Do, do you mean that?" I asked, keeping my voice to a bare whisper for fear that I'd speak too loudly and break the illusion of comfort I'd found in Bilbo's home.

Bilbo smiled, watching me fondly.

"I do," he whispered as well, but his tone, nor his expression, was mocking. Instead, he seemed to me to be sharing a secret in the strictest of confidence.

"Oh, Bilbo!" I exclaimed, unable to hold myself back as I launched myself at Bilbo to embrace him.

He caught me, though I knew he hadn't expected it, as I hadn't anticipated that I would embrace him myself. Still, he recovered from his shock and hesitantly patted me on the back, chuckling. Conscious that I was hugging an almost stranger, I pulled away.

"Thank you Bilbo! Thank you so very much!" I said through the swell of emotion I could not control or hold back.

He chuckled again. "You are very welcome."

I noticed the flush of his cheeks and thought for a moment that perhaps Bilbo wasn't used to such displays of affection.

"Sorry if I startled you Bilbo, I just couldn't contain my thankfulness. I have been so worried that I would not find a place to spend the night, and yet here you are offering me your guest room!"

He continued to chuckle, appearing very much pleased by my reaction.

"It's no trouble at all, as I said, anyone else would do the same. Everyone needs to be shown a little kindness, especially when they are in need of it," Bilbo commented wisely, looking for all intents and purposes a teller of grand tales from his youth.

"Anyone might well do the same, yes, but what really matters to me is that you have done so for me," I said, holding a deep, warm fondness for Bilbo in my chest.

Bilbo grew flustered, all ruddy cheeked and flickering eyes. He cleared his throat and smiled.

"Yes, well, as I said," he replied a tad awkwardly. "Now, shall I give you a quick tour of your room?"

Flushing with happiness, I nodded, and turned to open the beautiful oak door, but was halted by a gasp behind me.

"Oh!" Bilbo gasped when I turned back to face him. "Your head! It's bleeding!"

"What?" I questioned, reaching for the back of my head only to pull away sharply in pain.

When I examined my fingers, I found there to be red flakes and clotted scarlet liquid. Bilbo was right, I was bleeding. Or, I was more inclined to conclude that I _had_ been bleeding, quite a lot if I was to estimate from the amount that stuck to my fingers.

"Oh miss, quickly, you must let me look at that," Bilbo tried to calm the panicked tone in his voice, but it was all to clear to me how frantic he was at the sight of my blood.

I didn't blame him. The sight of it both turned my stomach inside out, and raised so many questions that it felt as if my head were spinning endlessly.

"Come into the study, I've got a small supply of healers tools, bandages and what not," Bilbo spoke quickly as he ushered me back the way we had come, past the corridor to the back door and back to the study. "I should be able to clean up that gash, but tomorrow I can call our healer, Hilda, or if you're feeling well enough we can call by her home, she'll be able to patch you up much better than I can."

He laughed nervously, and I couldn't find fault for him in doing so. In fact, I was a little worried that dear Bilbo might faint at any moment. His behaviour was so erratic I feared he was just speaking to keep his mind occupied from the shock of his discovery.

Meanwhile, I had begun to feel ever increasingly weary and tired. My head felt hot and sore as if it had been beaten like a worn out shoe in the heat. I was sure that this wound was the reason my head had begun to ache so much when I was warming up. I just hoped that if the pain in my back was from another wound, it was only brushing or mere scratches. If I asked Bilbo to examine my back I feared he would lose all sense — common or otherwise. Tomorrow I would just ask the healer, Hilda, to examine it for me.

Bilbo guided me into a wooden chair beside a small made up fire, to the right as we walked through the door. Once I was seated, he quickly found a box, hidden among a paper littered bottom drawer in the desk beneath a small arched window. He returned to me, smiling when he caught my gaze, and placed another chair behind me.

"I'll try my best to clean the cut, please tell me if I hurt you. I do not want to cause you more harm." Bilbo's voice shook slightly but I was sure he would have a steady hand when tending to me.

I nodded, mindful that the action caused my temple to ache and a pain, sharp and sudden, to throb from the base of my skull.

"Of course I will Bilbo," I reassured him, it seemed my excitement had dampened the pain momentarily.

I heard him splutter behind me in what I thought was a rushed and muttered variation of, 'Good. Well, then, I suppose I had better get along with it. Bilbo Baggins don't you dare faint on this poor girl.' But I didn't comment, rather staying as still as I could when I felt Bilbo's hands carefully part my hair to lay over both of my shoulders, then the tentative touch of a cloth soaked in something against my scalp.

"Ahh!" I couldn't help but wince away from the stinging sensation that prickled my hair on end.

"Sorry!" Bilbo burst. "Sorry, sorry, err, I'm so sorry miss, I should have warned you. The cloth is, it has a disinfectant on it. It might, sorry, it obviously does sting a little."

"It's all right Bilbo. I'm okay, I was just a little shocked is all." I moved back to my original position. "It's all right."

I could almost see his hesitation.

"If, if you're sure."

I nodded. "I'm sure Bilbo. I know you don't mean to hurt me."

I heard him sigh before he touched the cloth to my hair.

"I'm going to clean the cut now miss, just to prepare you," he warned.

"Thank you Bilbo, it's fine, go ahead."

With another sigh, he began to gently wipe at the gash to my head. I took the time to relax, the warm atmosphere of the study seeping into my skin and pulling at my drooping eyelids. Bilbo was gentle as he tended to me, and I wondered if he had any family members who were younger than him. I could almost imagine him patching up a mischievous niece or nephew without their parents knowledge before telling them to tell their parents what they had been up to.

"You have suffered a rather nasty cut I'm afraid miss," Bilbo's voice broke through my musings. "I would not be surprised if this head wound was the reason for your memory loss."

The thought puzzled me, how could a wound cause memory loss?

"That can happen?" I questioned, feeling wholly unsure of myself as I did so.

"Oh yes," Bilbo explained. "I've seen these sort of injuries before. The young Hobbits tend to get overzealous and a few have ended up losing a number of days in their memories. Why, I recall an incident when I was still a child, when a farmer, I can't quite remember his name, forgot he was married!"

I gasped, not even thinking of such a thing in regard to myself. Was I married? Betrothed? How could I tell? What if I had a child, or children and I knew nothing of their existence?

Bilbo, unaware of my inner panic, carried on with his tale.

"He believed himself to be a whole five years younger than he was! Though it was amusing to watch as he regained his memories, whenever he remembered arguing with his wife or doing something that had upset her, he would apologise and ask her for forgiveness, even though he had already done so!" I could hear the merriment in Bilbo's voice, this was obviously a fond memory for him.

"So, did he regain all of his memories?" I asked, afraid of the answer.

Bilbo paused in cleaning my head, the cloth resting against my hair for a moment as he thought.

"Yes, I do believe he did," Bilbo answered, sounding sure of himself. "There might have been a few moments he could not recollect, but one can hardly be expected to remember a whole five years. And if I may say so miss, you shouldn't expect yourself to remember everything. A lifetime lost could take another lifetime to remember."

I nodded mutely, somehow knowing that Bilbo was right. Anyway, there was only one thing I wanted to remember more than anything: my name. I longed to know my name, not even all of it, but just enough to have something of my own, something of me. Half remembered images of a blurry figure wasn't much in the grand sense of things, but it did give my hope.

The sound of Bilbo clearing his throat broke me from my thoughts.

"Ahh, Miss?" He asked cautiously.

"Yes, Bilbo?"

He cleared his throat again.

"The wound it, it may need stitches, however I do not have adequate supplies to do so here. I can bind the wound through other means to last until tomorrow, or, if you would prefer, I can go and fetch Hilda now?"

"Oh," I paused, not really understanding how sewing my head back together would help it heal. "Is-Is it that bad?"

Bilbo rushed to reassure the tremor in my voice. "Not at all! Not at all, Miss! It would just heal much faster and leave minimum scarring if it was stitched."

"Oh." I suppose that made sense, from what I could recollect, sewing a ripped piece of fabric together again looked neat. But trying to apply that image and replace the ripped fabric with my torn flesh made me shiver. "No, I wouldn't want to bother her this late, it can wait until tomorrow."

Again Bilbo hesitated. "Are you sure miss?"

I pictured a needle piercing my flesh and fought against a wave of nausea and another forceful shiver. "I'm sure Bilbo. I'm quite sure."

"Very well then," he said, and I heard him place the cloth down. "Now, what I am about to do is something my mother once had to do to me when I bumped my head."

"Were you very young?" I found myself asking.

"Not very," Bilbo answered. "I'd gotten my foot caught on a tree root and fallen on a rock, gave myself a rather nasty gash just above my hairline. I was terrified of needles as a child, and if I am honest, I still try and avoid them as much as I can."

"So what did your mother do?" I was enraptured by the thought of a young Bilbo watching a sewing kit wearily as his mother washed his cut as gently as he had mine.

"Well, she used my hair," he started.

"Your hair?"

"Yes, I asked the same thing, I thought she was just trying to trick me so she could thread a needle through my forehead." He chuckled to himself as if reliving the moment with his mature wisdom of adulthood.

As we spoke I felt Bilbo's hands start to gently brush through my hair, softly tugging strands loose and untying snarls of hair. It was strangely soothing.

"But she explained that by using a short plaiting method, the hair would secure the wound so it would remain closed, and I wouldn't even have to see one needle." I could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke fondly of his mother.

"How strange," I commented, wondering how such a thing could be accomplished.

Bilbo laughed, his fingers now gliding through my smooth hair easily.

"I thought so too, but I must say that it is quite effective. As a matter of fact, Hilda uses the same technique on the children in the village. It certainly helps to contain any fears about needles." He paused for a moment, I heard him hum to himself quietly in thought. "In fact, I do believe that every mother knows this trick, at least among Hobbits that is, and to the best of my knowledge."

We lulled into a comfortable silence for a moment, each of us immersed in our thoughts. I wondered about Bilbo's memories, how quickly he had recollected them and the emotions that came with them. I must have memories like that to recall, happy moments, embarrassing moments, moments of fear and joy and wonder. Perhaps it was only a matter of time before they came back to me. Perhaps I would receive each one separately, recollecting segments of my past piece by piece as Bilbo had told me one Hobbit had. Or, maybe I would not remember anything. Maybe fragments of my mind would unfurl themselves for me, but others would remain lost to me forever.

"Maybe my mother knew about it too," I found myself commenting.

Bilbo's breath caught in a half gasp and his hands paused in my hair. I heard him swallow before he seemed to reanimate, his fingers weaving my hair into separate plaits that bared my wound to his sight.

"Maybe she did," he answered, then cleared his throat once more. "Do you think your mother was a Hobbit?"

Biting my lip, I hesitated in answering. Now that Bilbo has posed the idea, I felt an undeniable knowing, a gut feeling, that he was right. As if the idea of my mother being the Dwarf was impossible.

"Yes," I whispered. "I-I do believe she was Bilbo."

Bilbo hummed behind me, and for a moment I thought he might tell me I couldn't really know for definite until I remembered her. But, he surprised me yet again, as if his utter expectance of my memory loss and uninvited, unexpected arrival at his door was not enough proof of what a gentle and undeniably kind soul Bilbo was, he then patted my hands from where they lay on my lap, leaned around my back to look at me and smiled, saying, "I haven't a doubt in my mind that you aren't right miss. Not one."

I couldn't help but mirror his smile, mine taking a grateful edge. How had I managed to find someone so willing to help me, who was also excepting of my peculiar circumstances? Bilbo patted my hand again, and then returned back to tending to my wound.

"Thank you." I was sure to say before emotion threatened to fill my throat and block the words.

Bilbo didn't answer, but I could tell he was still smiling.

"B-Bilbo?" I asked tentatively, unsure if what I was about to ask was considered over stepping over the bounds of our acquaintance or not.

"Yes?" He replied.

"How, I mean, what erm…could, could you tell me about your mother? I-I mean that she sounds like a wonderful Hobbit, and I'd love to know more about her." My voice was high pitched with nerves and my speech stuttered as I tried to form a complete, comprehensive sentence.

"Of course," he answered, sounding happy to dive into the topic of conversation I had posed, contrary to my hesitations. "In fact, it may help take your mind off of any pain you're feeling. I find that nothing distracts one quite as easily as good conversation."

"I must say I do not know, but it seems to be distracting me thus far," I commented lightly.

Bilbo chuckled. "And for that I am glad. However, I must warn you miss that I am about to begin braiding over your wound so you may feel some pain, but I will endeavour to be as efficient as possible so as to not prolong any sense of discomfort."

"Thank you Bilbo." I was warmed by his consideration of my wellbeing, he truly was a gentle soul.

"Now, as to the topic of my mother, her name was Belladonna Baggins, nee Took. She was a wonderful woman and I do miss her, she passed away seven years ago now," Bilbo lamented, sounding forlorn.

I suddenly felt awful, I should have known better than to ask after his mother since I knew he lived alone.

"I am so sorry Bilbo, I did not mean to upset you," I tried to apologise hastily.

"No, Miss, not at all! I adore talking about my mother, it keeps her alive in my memories. And I am sure she would have loved to have met you," he laughed to himself.

"Really?"

"Oh yes! For sure, a strange young half Hobbit, half Dwarf appearing out of nowhere with no memory, she would have loved nothing than to help you solve the riddle that you are."

I couldn't help but chuckle at the image of Bilbo's mother my mind presented, being endearingly polite and hospitable while peppering me with questions and posing several theories to my memory loss.

"Was she a lot like you?"

Bilbo contemplated my question for a moment, and it was then that I felt the very first tugs against my scalp. It wasn't awfully painful, but I knew that Bilbo was there, I could even feel my hair pull over the wound, the full feeling of flesh pressing together making me shiver.

Bilbo saw it instantly, and was quick to reassure me.

"Are you cold miss? I can fetch you a blanket if you need?"

I almost shook my head but remembered at the last moment.

"No, no, I'm fine Bilbo."

"Are you sure? I can light a fire for your room if you think you may become chilly in the evening." Bilbo was the epitome of a gracious host.

"I'm sure I'll be fine Bilbo, but I will let you know if I change my mind before we retire."

He made a noise of approval from behind me. I couldn't help but picture the satisfied smile on his face, it seemed to be easy to make Bilbo happy, one just had to have nice manners.

"Now," he began, and at the same time I felt him begin to section off another part of my hair. "My mother was from a large family, being the ninth child and youngest daughter to my grandfather Gerontius Took and Adamanta Took. My mother married my father, Bungo Baggins and together they financed the construction of their home and, my own."

"They built this house?" I asked, having had been imaging that the maze of a house Bilbo lived in had been here for many years.

"Yes, yes," he nodded. "Bag End, my home, is currently the Shire's most luxurious and comfortable Hobbit hole. They lived happily together until I was born fifty years ago, and we became the closest of families."

"Sounds like you had a wonderful childhood growing up in such a lovely home," I commented, day dreaming of a young Bilbo running through the very passage the elder version had lead me through.

"Yes, it was," Bilbo sighed happily. "And my mother was the one who made my young Hobbit-hood so very memorable, for she was as cunning and witty as any Baggins, and as adventurous and brave as any Took. It was often remarked among other families within the Shire that long ago one of the Took ancestors must have taken a fairy wife, as it was thought there was something unHobbit like about the family as they were always getting up to mischief or having adventures."

"And is there?" I asked, utterly enthralled by the image Bilbo painted for me.

"Is there what, miss?" He questioned back.

"Do you have a fairy ancestor Bilbo?"

He laughed, though not the shameful laugh that could be aimed at someone who said something foolish, nor was it a laugh of disbelief that someone had the gall to ask such an appalling thing, but, to me, it seemed to be a laugh of someone who had been suddenly struck by a thought they had never had before.

"Good grief," Bilbo began, chuckling. "In all honesty I'd never given it any real thought until now."

"And now that you have?" I asked.

"Now, I cannot help but think that it is entirely possible, what with the Took's background and…preoccupation with adventure," he stated with utter surety.

He chuckled to himself for a good while, still weaving his fingers lightly through my hair.

"There!" He suddenly proclaimed. "Those should hold until we can get you to Hilda tomorrow."

"You've finished?" I asked, bewildered that it had taken him so little time and without much discomfort on my part at all to do.

"Yes," Bilbo answered, sounding pleased with himself. "And I must say that they could rival Hilda's own!"

I couldn't help but giggle at Bilbo's contentment at his medical skills.

"I'm sure they could," I complimented, and heard Bilbos happy sigh at my praise. "Thank you Bilbo."

"You're welcome my dear," he sighed again and I heard him stand from his seat. "Now, before we retire for bed, are you injured anywhere else?"

I stayed seated, taking stock of my now thawed body, and biting my lip when I realised the ache in my back was now throbbing painfully. There were other aches all over my body, my left ankle itched, my knees were sore and I was sure my right hip was bruised too.

"Yes, I think I am," I answered Bilbo hesitantly, realising that any injury to my back would need to be looked at without the obstacle of my dress.

Bilbo immediately came around to face me with a concerned softness to his features.

"Where?" He asked. "Are you in a lot of pain?"

I shook my head, I really wasn't. I was sure that tomorrow I would be, however, whether it was the cold or shock, I wasn't yet feeling the full brunt of the pain from my injuries.

"No, not a lot of pain, I think it's the shock more than anything physical that pains me the most at the moment," I admitted, feeling a little hesitant to reveal what I felt for fear that Bilbo would panic.

I was sure he was a hardy Hobbit, but the knowledge that I may have to be treated for injuries underneath my garments may be a bit much for him to take.

"Are you sure?" he persisted.

"Yes, Bilbo," I answered, nodding decisively. "I'll be all right until morning."

Bilbo copied me, almost as if out of habit to agree with someone if they insisted rather than because he believed I was telling the truth.

"Yes, yes, morning, we'll see Hilda right away," he said, then paused and frowned. "Before breakfast! Although…that may be a little early…perhaps before second breakfast."

Second breakfast?

Was that normal? Maybe it was, I had a whole culture to remember, a way of life, a routine to follow.

"That sounds like a sensible idea," I haphazardly input an opinion, well aware that I could at any moment trip on a misunderstanding.

Bilbo saw right through my attempt at playing pretend.

"I have a lot to tell you miss," he said, a happy smile on his face. "Tomorrow you will have a whole culture to explore."

There was no judgement in his eyes, no hesitation in offering his help, and no exasperation at having to give it. He seemed genuinely pleased to be the one, the only one, to help me relearn everything. This perfect stranger who had shared his home, his food, his help, and all without once asking for anything in return.

How lucky had I been to happen across Bilbo's home and not someone else's? For I could not imagine that such warmth, understanding and kindness spread to all Hobbits. Or, perhaps it was just good manners that I had simply forgotten were instilled in every being, but there was something about Bilbo that made me pause in that assumption. Something that I would have wagered stemmed from his mother.

Out of the blue, Bilbo hummed as he was watching me but I could tell that his musings lay somewhere else entirely, somewhere deep in his own mind.

"Bilbo?" I called softly, after waiting a moment to see if he would speak.

"Hmm?" He jolted from his thoughts, humming again in a questioning tone as he blinked back to the present.

"Are you all right?"

"Me?" He blinked again, as if processing my concern for him. "Oh, yes, yes, I'm quite all right, just thinking."

I bit my lip to keep from smiling at his pondering expression, a small crease appeared between his eyebrows, his bottom lip protruded slightly and I could see the index fingers of both hands began tapping a silent beat against the outsides of his robe pockets.

After a minute of silence I prompted him to speak his thoughts aloud.

"Your situation upon waking makes me wonder how the Bounders didn't see you," Bilbo commented, eyes adrift in the waters of his mind.

"The what?" I asked, trying to follow the trail of his invisible thoughts.

"They are border-watchers of the Shire, a volunteer force employed to 'beat the bounds' and prevent incursions by undesirables," Bilbo explained, then sighed heavily, clearly exasperated. "I don't know how no one saw you or how you came to be in that field as they are posted all around the Shire! Someone must have to have seen something!"

He looked angry at this point, now muttering furiously under his breath about the uselessness of the Bounders, and one in particular, a Mr Adalgrim Took, about whom Bilbo clearly had nothing pleasant to say.

"Bilbo?" I called again. "Perhaps we could ask the others tomorrow?"

I was beginning to feel my eyelids drooping, my body sore and my soul aching. I needed rest.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, yes, of course," he muttered, slowly emerging from his thoughts with the clearing of his throat and a decisive nod. "Tomorrow, yes, tomorrow I'll have a word, several actually, with that Took, mark my words. No good pilferer…sticky fingered thief…why anyone would want that smarmy, no good Hobbit protecting them I'll never know."

I bit my lip, feeling an amused smile begin to flourish at his grumpy mutterings. From what I could gather, Mr Adalgrim Took had grown up alongside Bilbo, and that there was most definitely no love lost between them. If I understood correctly, Adalgrim was a known thief in Hobbition, but got away with most, if not all of his crimes, because of how well known, liked and envied the Took family was; a family Bilbo was, in his mind, unfortunately included in. It would seem my stay in Hobbiton would not be a boring one, of that I was certain. And when I caught the glint of mischief and the bright spark of cunning in Bilbo's eyes, I knew that he would be the one to make my stay here all the more entertaining and instructive.

For, who could be the better teacher of social constructs and mannerisms dedicated to Hobbits, than a Hobbit?

"Good night Bilbo," I said softly. "And thank you, for everything."

He smiled at me, warm and charming, finally putting a stop to his mutterings.

"You're welcome miss, I'll see you in the morning, good night," he wished, taking his leave with a smile and retreating back down the corridor and towards his bedroom.

Still smiling at his antics, I opened the bedroom door. The room was utterly charming.

Small and quaint, with cheerful yellow walls and a small, round window on the far wall, with a bare wooden chest, made up of four little drawers and two doors. The bed was to my right, just big enough for me. There was a small bookcase, and by small I meant that it couldn't house as many books as the others Bilbo had in his house, but was still as high as the ceiling. It seemed that Bilbo had a fondness for cosiness, a feeling I felt myself mirroring, my very being warming in a way that felt familiar, as if the sight in front of me was one I had seen before. Something that both warmed and worried me.

I know there are parts I'm missing, vast fragments of memory that make me, me. It's like my mind is a room full of objects covered in white sheets, I can see that the memories are there, but I can't remove the sheets to see them. It's so frustrating, knowing that there are things to remember, but not having the power to do anything about it. But, perhaps that was a topic of thought best left till the morning.

So, I curled up under the covers, laying back against the small mound of pillows that I suspected were stuffed with downy feathers and relishing in their plumpness. Still in my dress, I only felt slightly guilty for inevitably getting the neat bed dirty as my eyelids grew heavy and I resigned myself to putting my worries on hold in favour of rest.

* * *

 _There were whispers, murmurs in the dark that were as soft as the sheets I lay on. Finer than any silk, caressing my skin like feathery kisses, tingling and warm, I didn't want to move. A pleasant feeling like liquid warmth was settling in my belly and making my head muggy, as if I were sat in afternoon sun filling me with lazy ambition. But I was indoors. There was no sun, only the soft glow of candle light and the shadows of figures stood at the foot of the luxurious bed I lay upon filling the room. I could see no faces, no distinguishing features of any kind on them, and only hear their rough, harsh voices, the sounds of which made little sense to my clouded mind. The language was abrasive, unlike Westron, which I knew I could speak, but oddly familiar, as if I had been taught it as a child and had simply forgotten over time. The room itself held some familiarity to me, but as I reached for the answer, it slipped away, replaced with the dark abyss of sleep._


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi everyone, sorry for the delay but I'm currently studying for my masters in creative writing so am a little preoccupied! But, here is chapter two and I hope you enjoy. Have a great day!**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

It is a strange feeling, to wake without any memories to visit of the days before.

Because waking in that field didn't count.

Waking in a bed was a completely different experience to waking in the dead of night, battered, dressed in tattered, dirty clothing, and all alone in a field. For one, I was warm, for another, I wasn't confused as to how I came to be here.

Perhaps this is how it would always be from now on, waking in warmth and comfort? I would certainly not be against that, not at all. However, I still had to think about Bilbo's generous offer and the sobering fact that at any moment my luck could run out. Bilbo could marry, have children, or need me to leave because of some other means. I was not so naive to think that circumstances could not change.

That, at least, was not effected by my memory loss.

I presently knew the names of objects, and some history of the world; though the gaps in this could be accounted for due to a lack of good teaching rather than memory loss. There was enough to know what races currently inhabited Middle Earth, however, I could not apply any of this knowledge to myself or my life. Not for lack of trying, of course. It was as though I was wholly removed from the world, my existence an anomaly in the great movement of life. There was nothing tying me to my own life or another's, and no circumstances to give evidence of my existence save for my beating heart and Bilbo's witnessing of me.

Sighing, I heaved myself both out of the warm bed and from my morbid thoughts. Almost instantly I regretted leaving the soft blankets when my feet touched the cold stone floor. Shivering, I quickly moved onto one of the rugs laying conveniently around the room, instantly finding the soft texture much more agreeable. I took a moment to relax, finding that the slight chill in the air was waking me up from the dredge of sluggish sleepiness lingering on my mind.

I didn't need to get dressed, as I was already clothed in my tattered dress from last night, the garment still not sparking any memory. There was nothing to put on my aching feet to shield them from the cold, nor to hide the bruised state they were in. Thinking back to last night and the sight of Bilbo's large, hairy feet provided my answer to the obvious question. Bilbo didn't need shoes, Hobbits don't need shoes. But it seems Dwarves, or at least Half-Bloods, most certainly do.

Sighing again, I went to make my way out of the bedroom, before turning around and promptly remaking the bed, fluffing the pillow and straightening the blankets without paying much attention to my motions. Perhaps it was something I was just used to doing, and my body automatically complied?

Whatever the reason, it was a little troubling, so I quickly left the room and went in search of Bilbo and safer thoughts.

After finding myself wandering into what I had thought was the kitchen, but was actually the pantry, I found Bilbo coming out of what I hoped was the parlour and into the hallway.

"Good morning, miss!" Bilbo called happily, grinning. "How are you?"

"Very well, thank you. How are you this morning?"

"Good, very refreshed," he replied. "We best be off soon to Hilda's, but first, a good breakfast. Most important meal of the day, breakfast, sets you up for the rest of the morning, until second breakfast, that is."

"Second breakfast?" I echoed, hoping he would explain, as I was not too sure that this was something I had known about, or even participated in, previously. Was it a special Hobbit meal? A different type of meal? Perhaps first breakfast was just a drink?

"Oh yes," Bilbo sounded approving, of what, I had no idea. Maybe the thought of more food? "Second most important meal of the seven a day!"

"Seven?" I asked faintly, now second guessing my previous knowledge of mealtimes. Just how many were there?

Bilbo, unaware of my inner turmoil over something as simple as breakfast, carried on, now leading the way into the kitchen where he moved a dark kettle over the fire and then set out some plates and cutlery either side of the table clearly as place settings for us both in the places not occupied by food.

"You have breakfast," he explained. "Then second breakfast, elevenses, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner, and finally, supper."

I'd stopped in the doorway to the kitchen as he bustled about, feeling, for the first time, that I was a stranger in Bilbo's home. Truly an outsider, not only to him and his way of life, but apparently, mine as well. And that was truly a daunting thing to comprehend, much less think about in any genuine length.

"That is a lot of food," was all I could think to comment, while swallowing back the swell of uncertainty and nervousness flooding my throat.

"It certainly is!" Bilbo agreed, cheerfully ignorant to my inner plight. "Hobbits do like to eat!"

"I can tell," I muttered under my breath, eyeing the plates of food on the bare wooden table with trepidation. Was this all just for one meal?

Lay on the table in attractive, earthenware plates and dishes were boiled eggs, bright red tomatoes the size of my fist, a large joint of home-cured ham, from which several slices had already been carved ready to serve, and cold, cooked sausages. Fresh baked bread, still warm, rested waiting to be cut and a dish of soft, golden butter sat to the side of it, along with tiny bowls of bright red jam and amber coloured honey. I also spied a platter of cooked eggs on the fireside, kept warm by a metal shelf that stuck out over the flames. There was also a pot of creamy milk, still frothy, and a large brown teapot steaming cheerfully.

"Well?" Bilbo questioned my hesitation, smiling as if amused. "Tuck in!"

Laughing at his enthusiasm, I did just that, shaking off my nervousness to fully enjoy what was the first meal I could remember sitting down to eat, as two slices of shortbread and a cup of mint tea did not in my limited experience count as a proper meal, not when faced with the cornucopia of food before me.

I had not thought food could taste so wondrous, and was woefully unprepared for the explosions of flavour upon my tongue. The bread was warm and coaxed the golden butter to begin to melt slightly, oil from the butter dripping down my fingers when I was too slow to eat it. The ham was sweet with honey, salty in a way not even the sausages could emulate, and came apart easily in my hands when cutlery took too long. The tea wasn't mint to my pleasant surprise, but something malty and a decadent warm brown. Bilbo poured a little milk in for me, and after an initial sip I found it too strong, he sweetened it with a small spoonful of honey. Then, there was the sausages, packed fit to bursting with bites of apple and something herby I didn't know.

I had popped my last morsel of buttered bread into my mouth, and was just about to reach for a scoop of the warm eggs when I heard Bilbo's bone weary sigh.

"It's heartbreaking watching you eat."

I looked up to find him observing me patiently, but there was the shine of tears in his eyes. I inquired after his thoughts with a tilt of my head, mouth still full of bread.

"You look at every mouthful as though it were the finest of foods," he explained with difficulty, as though the words pained him. "And the wonder on your face when you taste something new is like that of a child experiencing new flavours."

I swallowed the mouthful of bread and butter, licking away the oil on my lips carefully, biding my time to reply to this new train of thought.

"Why is that heartbreaking?" I finally asked.

Bilbo's smile was brittle and weak. "Because you should remember what food tastes like my dear, and the fact that you don't is enough to drive me to tears."

That made me squirm in my seat. No one should cry because of me, no matter why. The notion that Bilbo was upset made my insides wriggle about uncomfortably and my face heat with a blush I didn't understand.

"Please don't cry," I pleaded and reached out to hold his hand.

Bilbo chuckled wetly and held my hand in his, his fingers encircling my wrist. When he looked down, sniffing to compose himself, he suddenly frowned and twisted his hand so we could both see his middle finger and thumb easily encompassing my wrist and overlapping to his first knuckle.

"You've not eaten well, or perhaps at all, in days," he whispered, so softly he was most likely speaking to himself, so I didn't reply. His next sentence came in a rush of tormented air, the words escaping before he could trap them behind his teeth. "What happened to you?"

Again he sighed, and he sounded achingly sad. His hand previously encircling my wrist moved to capture my hand, squeezing it gently before reaching and placing a spoonful of eggs in my plate, along with two more sausages, a whole tomato, and a fresh cut of bread.

"Please, eat as much as you want, as much as you can," he insisted, hesitating for a moment before adding another slice of ham too. "You will never have to go without food again, I'll make sure of it."

Now I found myself tearful. How lucky it was that I'd found someone so compassionate and caring? I doubted I could have knocked on the door of a more warm-hearted individual at that moment.

"I'll eat you out of house and home!" I chuckled, hands shaking when I brushed a few escapee tears from my cheeks.

Bilbo just smiled warmly, finally tucking into his own breakfast. "That would make me profusely happy."

After polishing off as much of the breakfast as we could, Bilbo placed a couple more small logs onto the fire, telling me that the fire would keep until we came back in time to cook our next meal. He then led the way to the entrance, where he pulled on a deep red jacket with gold buttons that shone proudly in the soft early morning light. Before I could ask if I could borrow a coat, he reached behind the coat stand, his arm disappearing past his elbow for a moment, before he withdrew it and brought with him a swathe of blue fabric.

"Here miss," he said, handing me the garment. "Though it is late summer, the morning is still quite chilly, and will quickly get colder as the days go on. This will keep you warm until we get to Hilda's. There's a chill in the air this morning."

It was a cloak, dark blue in colour, nearly black, but around the hem of the hood and down the sides there was some beautifully delicate embroidery in white thread. Pulling the garment closer for my inspection, I found the embroidery to be of tiny flowers interwoven with a winding ivy plant.

"Will Hilda not mind our coming so early in the morning?" I asked while wrapping the thick cloak around my shoulders, letting my fingertips trail over it as I held it closed in front of me for there was no clasp to fasten it.

Bilbo shook off my concern with a flutter of his brown freckled hands, already turning his back and digging through the cabinet beside the coat stand in that preoccupied, pottering way of his.

"No, no, no, of course not. _Where in Middle Earth?_ She would hold me down and do," he shivered from head to toe as if suddenly freezing. "Well, all manner of unpleasant things to me if she knew I had kept you from medical attention for this long. _Confound it all!_ "

He dug deeper into the drawers which were very clearly perplexing to him.

"But," I licked my lips nervously, suddenly feeling inordinately uneasy about leaving Bilbo's home. The prospect of stepping out into a world I did not know and had only glimpsed in the bleak darkness of night was clenching my heart in a tight grip of fear. Yet…there was something in the manner of Bilbo's oddity I found amusing, having a conversation with both me and himself successfully stirred a humour in me I had not expected to feel, but it was certainly not unwelcome. "Didn't you say that it would have been too late to see her last night?"

Bilbo nodded, turning his head to look at me before quickly returning his gaze to his search. "I did, however, _blast! I'm sure it was…_ I also know that Dinodas would not have appreciated an interruption so late, _ow! What is a pin doing in here?_ Which would have made Hilda annoyed at Dinodas," Bilbo explained with wide eyes, withdrawing his right hand in favour of sacrificing his left to the dangerous drawers. "And caused yet another round of disagreements between them. Even as a member of the family I would not dare be anywhere in the vicinity when they begin rowing."

I nodded, though I didn't fully understand.

"Ahah!" He suddenly exclaimed, pulling a silver broach from the drawer with a triumphant grin.

"Here," he came towards me and pulled the cloak closed. "Would you hold this still for me? Thank you."

I watched as he fastened the knot work broach to the cloak and fastened it in front of me.

"Beautiful," I couldn't help but whisper.

"Yes, it is, isn't it? The broach also works as a hair ornament. Mother used to use it to keep her's out of her face whilst baking," Bilbo said softly, gazing off into the air fondly.

"It was your mothers?" I was suddenly very fearful of losing it.

"No, I will not hear a word about it, miss," he spoke almost sternly before I could protest. "You are in need of a cloak, and I just happen to have one. It also happens to be my late mother's but I could not think of a person who would appreciate its beauty more than its current wearer."

He smiled warmly at me, the lines around his eyes and the corner of his mouth creasing into familiar places, softening his face further whilst further endearing him to me as I fought with my emotions over an act as kind and thoughtful as this.

I at last whispered, "Thank you Bilbo."

I hoped my face portrayed my sudden affection for the Hobbit as words were escaping me.

"Think nothing of it my dear," he said offhandedly, as if the action and compliment were but a flyaway thought.

"Umm, so who is Dinodas?" I asked, watching him with curiosity as he suddenly pulled a small comb from another drawer in the cabinet and began brushing the curly hair on the top of his feet.

Now it was daylight I could see his feet in more detail, as well as the differences between us, clearer. Where he had large, thickly haired feet, I had smaller, softer feet with some small smatterings of hair on my toes. Where he had stocky, hairy legs, my own were slim about the ankle and knee and smattered with shiny, white thin scars beneath dark blonde hair. His body shape was soft but sturdy, no rotund belly that I remembered could mean a fondness for alcoholic beverages. My own body, after making curious inspections of myself last night while trying to sleep, was nothing much different from what I knew a feminine form to look like. A thinner waist than a male and a bust, but all still soft and warm. Really, besides my feet, I came to the assumption that I looked like any Hobbit lass should.

"Ah, yes, Dinodas is Hilda's husband," Bilbo provided before nodding downwards in satisfaction at the state of his feet hair and replacing the brush.

"Does he not like interruptions at home?" I asked, feeling the corners of my lips begin to quirk upwards at my strange, silly companion.

"No, he just likes his sleep…err…," Bilbo paused and then laughed lightly. "So yes, I do believe he doesn't like interruptions at home!"

I chuckled along with him, feeling excited at meeting more Hobbits, even as the fear of the unknown was rapidly making it hard to breathe properly. Bilbo seemed to sense this and stopped by the door, one hand on the door handle, a basket in his other that he'd acquired while I was otherwise engaged with my thoughts.

"Are you ready?" He asked. "It's all right if you aren't, I can fetch Hilda here if need be."

I swallowed nervously and began fidgeting with the cloak as it hung in front of me, worrying the material between my fingertips.

"I hardly know," I admitted honestly, eyeing the door in trepidation. "I do not know what to expect, so I do not know how to prepare myself for what is to come, although…you are quite sure that everyone is agreeable and friendly?"

Bilbo smiled wanly. "The only family in the entirety of the Shire who would not be pleasant are the Sackville-Baggins'. A family, that yes, I have the misfortune of being related to, but never fear, they will steer clear once they see me."

I moved to his side whilst inquiring, "Why is that?"

He chuckled, looking entirely unfazed at this matter, as if it were so natural now he took it as the way of things. "They are unforgivingly hostile towards me and envious of the wealth I inherited, that they feel I do not deserve."

"How rude!"

"Precisely!" He agreed with me, then smiled gently. "You will be fine miss, I have no intention of abandoning you in the middle of Hobbiton. We will see Hilda and then I think we might have a short walk around the village, and inquire as to if anyone saw you or heard anything last night, if that is fine with you? I may even be inclined to have a quiet word with a certain Bounder who was on duty."

I nodded in agreement with his plans, suppressing a smile at the mental image of Bilbo confronting Mr Adalgrim Took to have, what I imagined would be, a rather stern word. In truth, I could not picture Bilbo shouting or even raising his voice above the necessity of needing to be heard, so to picture him giving another Hobbit a telling off, I imagined it to consist mainly of finger wagging and stern words, a notion that carried with it a wave of familiarity I could not yet place.

Shaking myself slightly, I realised that Bilbo was still waiting for me to answer him. "That sounds like a fair plan."

He smiled. "Well then miss, may I at last introduce you to Hobbiton."

He then opened the door with a flourish and into the hallway poured a beautiful golden light. For a moment I was blinded by the brightness of the sun, but then I could see the front garden

I'd walked through last night, the smooth flagstone steps, and the wooden fence I'd walked past and beyond that the rolling mounds and colourful doors of Hobbiton. I was instantly met with a burst of colour. It was so full of life that I immediately felt overwhelmed, having to take a small step back to ground myself that the image in front of me was reality.

The dark and almost ominous surroundings I'd walked through last night, seeking refuge and help, were actually the homes and gardens of who I now imagined to be the most cheerful of species. Hobbits, it seemed, had a great love of nature, and even more so of laughter because all I could see was grass, flowers and plants of so many varieties it made my eyes water, and all I could hear was merriment and cheer in the form of laughter, song and one proud exclamation over the size of a pumpkin.

"Oh Bilbo, it's, it's…wonderful!" I exclaimed, eyes darting about as I tried to see everything at once, my apprehension gone as I moved forwards to the light.

There was just so much to see. So much that wasn't the blackness I'd woken up to or the coziness of Bilbo's home, so much that was new and bold and bright.

"It is, isn't it?" He asked rhetorically, standing beside me in the doorway and looking out to the village too, a small smile on his face. In that moment, he looked…proud, beaming down at the village that I assumed he'd spent his entire life in.

He turned to me, still smiling.

"Shall we?" He asked, holding an arm out to me once we'd stepped out the door and he'd locked it behind us.

I gratefully took his arm whilst returning his smile, seeming to know without hesitation how to tuck my hand into the crook his elbow presented and walk beside him in a leisurely manner. I swallowed the lump in my throat that had begun to form the moment he handed me this cloak.

Habits were coming to me as I was acting upon them. Perhaps my memory was not entirely gone? Little cracks in the blank wall I'd faced when waking in that field had begun to allow moments to bleed through to my conscious mind. I just hoped that more would continue to come, and not just what a cup of tea was, but moments that might allow me to piece together who I was or at least where I came from. But how long would that take? And would all of it ever return?

Whilst these thoughts swirled about in my head, we walked down the lane to the right of Bilbo's home, then taking several turns and passing an apple orchard, we eventually came to a door tucked away in a little nook where one hill met another. Bilbo had explained that these homes were in fact called smials and were a creation entirely unique to Hobbits.

Other than this, Bilbo had been relatively quiet along the way, only greeting the odd Hobbit lad or lass, but he didn't introduce me, leaving the other Hobbits confused and obviously curious. Despite the glances thrown in my direction, I felt far from ignored, having understood that Bilbo was merely avoiding the topic of my name for as long as possible; after all, how could he introduce someone who had no name?

Then, after greeting a rather enthusiastic Hobbit by the name of Asphodel Brandybuck, who seemed utterly fascinated by my presence and continuously asked Bilbo if Bag End was receiving any more visitors, to which he replied that there was only, at present, one visitor and there would only be one visitor for the foreseeable future, Bilbo informed me that we would probably be followed by the occasional inquisitive Hobbit during our outing, and to not be alarmed, as some were just intrigued, such as Asphodel. When I inquired as to why he was hesitant to linger with any Hobbit we encountered, he answered that it might be best for me to become more comfortable around Hobbits in general before actually undertaking such a feat…whatever that meant.

Then, suddenly, we had arrived.

Nothing like Bilbo's large and lavishly gardened residence, this smial, with it's cheery yellow door and the presence of an old, wind blown apple tree resting atop the mound of earth above the entrance way cast a shadow over the doorway and small front garden, was minute and marvellous.

"This is Woody End," Bilbo explained, gesturing to the other smials around us while opening a small yellow painted gate. "Later, I'll take you for a short walk around the rest of Hobbiton, if Hilda says that's all right, so you can see it all. It's not a long walk and such a sunny day, it would be a shame not to enjoy it, what do you say?"

I nodded, smiling. "I'd like that."

Despite my earlier hesitations, I was enjoying being outside and interacting with other forms of life. Last night felt like a distant, dark nightmare I'd finally woken from. The pain from my head was a faint ebb now, and my back still ached whenever I moved, but the distractions all around me were proving to be a far better medicine than distraction by food, as at breakfast I'd been unable to hide my discomfort sitting at the table. Further distraction in a walk might help to prolong this feeling of slight euphoria.

Bilbo returned my smile quickly before ringing the little iron bell hanging by the side of the door.

From inside the home, I heard a voice call, "Coming!"

A few moments later the door opened and revealed a beautiful Hobbit, whose brown curly hair was piled on her head, had wide, bright eyes shining with good humour when she saw Bilbo, and her hands instantly went to her hips and she struck a pose that looked stern, but the dancing light in her eyes remained.

"Bilbo Baggins!" She crowed. "Why I never! I would have thought you'd forgotten our existence it's been so long since a house call!"

Bilbo immediately bowed his head, cheeks reddening, and looking thoroughly chastised. "Yes, I know Hilda and I do apologise. I will endeavour to visit more often in future."

She fixed him with a glare I wasn't sure was real before laughing and reaching forward to bring him into a tight hug which he returned, also laughing.

It struck me then that laughter might be a part of Hobbit language, as it seemed to feature most frequently in their conversations.

Hilda was evidently a lively Hobbit lass, full of energy and immediately struck me as a motherly figure when she stepped back from Bilbo and proceeded to fuss over his shirt which apparently needed a damn good ironing. It was quite amusing to see him nod and agree with her until she asked him why he hadn't bothered to dress properly before leaving his home, to which he had more than a few words of disagreement to share with her. While they tittered away, I spied a small Hobbit lass with chestnut curls peering out from behind her mother's blue skirts.

"And who is this?" Hilda asked when she caught sight of me, quirking an eyebrow high on her forehead. "You haven't secretly been courting, have you Bilbo?"

Bilbo proceeded to turn a bright pink. He spluttered and started and couldn't form a whole word for a moment, much to everyone's amusement. While he fought for a single syllable, I vaguely recalled the notion of courting, that of seeking and wooing one with the intention of them becoming your husband or wife and watching others partake in the ritual of it all, but never engaging in it myself.

"No," Bilbo eventually answered, voice low and the colour still remaining on the apples of his cheeks. "No, I haven't. I would tell you more now but the topic is rather sensitive and there are ears lurking."

He wasn't wrong.

To the right a little ways off, sat a wide green door and in front of it were two older Hobbit ladies, each with their heads turned towards us as a somewhat younger male, closer to Bilbo's age, stared unashamedly at us all, a pinch of a frown between his dark brows.

"Yes, yes," Hilda agreed quickly. "Best come on in then."

She then turned to her neighbours and gave them a look I could only conclude came with motherhood, for it was a perfect mixture of sternness and scolding that drove them to go about their business and leave us to ours like admonished children.

She nodded to herself in what looked like satisfaction before ushering us all into her home, closing the door behind us while muttering under her breath about nosey neighbours.

"Daisy!" Bilbo cheered when he finally caught sight of the little lass standing with her hands behind her back in the cheerfully lit hallway, his own hands resting on his knees as he bent slightly to meet her eye line. "My how you've grown!"

Daisy glowed under his praise and smiled prettily. She looked very much like her mother, with brown ringlets and bright green eyes, but with freckles dotting the brow of her nose that were her's alone.

"You would not be so surprised cousin if you thought to visit more often," Hilda chided good-naturedly while smiling at them both.

"You are cousins?" I asked.

"Very much second cousins twice removed, in that instance," Hilda answered me with a kind smile. "But, yes, cousins after a fashion nonetheless."

Bilbo nodded as he rose to stand. "Yes, Hilda's from my father's side of the family."

Hilda laughed and ushered us to follow her down the hallway into a small kitchen. "The ones with our heads firmly on our shoulders!"

"I won't disagree with you there," Bilbo muttered under his breath as he took a seat at the kitchen table, Daisy following suit and sitting beside him.

I hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was bad manners to take a seat without first being invited to do so, particularly as I was the only one present who was not family, and therefore a stranger in this situation."What do you mean?"

"Do you remember when I told you about the Took's?"

"Oh? Oh, yes," I answered, nodding as their words made sense. "The fairy wife."

Hilda began to laugh. "Yes, yes, I'd almost forgotten about her. Explains the entire lot, if you ask me. Oh, do take a seat, dear. Would you like any tea?"

"Thank you," I said as I gingerly sat on Daisy's left side, feeling my back begin to twinge and pinch from the upright position. "But, I'm quite all right."

"We've only just had breakfast Hilda," Bilbo explained. "I thought it best to eat before we came."

Hilda nodded as she set about making tea for herself and Daisy; I had the feeling that they had only just eaten themselves. At least I hoped they had, and that we hadn't disturbed their meal.

"Where is Dinodas, Hilda?" Bilbo asked, peering into the passageway leading further into the home. "Not sleeping in again?"

"Oh no, he's at the market, gone for some cheese and bread. He decided to have a midnight snack last night and eat what was to be our lunch!" She huffed with a scowl, shaking her head.

Daisy giggled beside me. "Papa is always hungry," she informed me quietly.

I couldn't help but smile with her. "Really?"

She nodded enthusiastically before leaning towards me conspiringly. "It gets him into trouble _all_ the time," she whispered loudly.

"Yes, it does," Hilda agreed as she turned to the table, setting a small yellow mug in front of Daisy and keeping a larger, light blue one for herself. "And we know better than to do the same, don't we Daisy?"

The girl nodded wisely.

"Now, what is it you need to speak to me about?" Hilda asked once settled, her eyes lingering on me for a moment. "You haven't come just for a social call, have you?"

"Well, it's a little queer and hard to believe, but bare with me," Bilbo began before clearing his throat and worrying his hands together. "This young lady visited me last night, quite to our shared surprise. She has no memory before waking in a field outside of Hobbiton in the dead of night. Once she righted herself, she made her way to my door as my light was the nearest to her."

Hilda didn't immediately answer him, but stopped still, thoughts rapidly flying over her face and through her expressive eyes, but I could not identify one. Then she turned to me, focused and professional.

"Do you remember anything at all?" She asked.

She didn't question Bilbo's claim, neither did she argue, frown or flinch.

"No, I-I mean, I've been having little flashes of memory or, or of smells, but I…I don't even know my own name," I admitted sadly, curling my shoulders protectively as now, the weight of my predicament felt heavier and darker than it had in the solitude of night.

"You don't know your name?" Came an inquisitive question from beside me.

Little Daisy had propped her chin on top of her hands where they rested on the table, her big green eyes watching me with open curiosity.

I bit my lip, feeling very silly to have such a conversation with someone so young. I wondered if she understood the implications of me not knowing my name.

"No, no I don't."

Daisy looked contemplative for a little while, humming to herself in a way that reminded me of Bilbo, before, all of a sudden, "You should be called…Flower!" she announced happily with a wide smile.

"Why is that?" I asked, casting her mother a quick glance and finding Hilda watching us with a small smile of her own.

Daisy was undeterred by my hesitation. "Because flowers are pretty and you are pretty so you should be named after a flower, but I can't decide which one so it will have to be all of them!"

I couldn't help but smile at her childish reasoning.

"I like it. Flower," I rolled the word around my mouth, feeling it. It did feel pretty. "Thank you Daisy."

She grinned and giggled. "You're welcome, Miss Flower."

"Oh, Daisy," I said, finding it impossible not to laugh along with her. "I think you can just call me Flower, there's no need for formalities, after all you did just name me."

Again she nodded, but now with the faux seriousness of adulthood on her youthful face. "If you think so," she said, sitting up straight and facing me.

"I do."

"Okay then."

Our discussion was peppered with chuckles and now I could see that Bilbo looked positively chuffed at the advancements I'd made. Hilda was watching her daughter fondly and sipping her tea between chuckling with her cousin.

"Now that that's settled," Bilbo said, still smiling, though now with an edge of dithering. I glanced down and saw that once again his hands had taken to worrying themselves, his thumbs rubbing in the joint of his knuckles. "The real reason we're here is that when she came to my door last night, she was injured."

"What?" Hilda burst, mug thumping onto the table as she rushed to stand and move towards me, skirts swaying and brow furrowing. "Why didn't you tell me that first? Pleasantries could have waited!"

She took hold of my cheeks, her hands surprisingly cool, and turned my face right and left slowly and softly.

"How are you injured?" She asked, eyes scanning my face for something, what, I had no clue.

"Well, there is a cut on the back of my head-," I began only for Hilda to huff and turn to pin Bilbo with a withering glare.

"A head injury!" She lamented crossly. "Bilbo Baggins, I could ring your neck! You know better than to let a head injury wait!"

Bilbo visibly shrunk beneath her scolding, his neck sinking between his shoulders.

"It was very late Hilda," he protested weakly, trying to reason with the irate mother, much to my surprise. "Almost morning in fact, and I dealt with the wound as best I could-,"

"I don't care!" Hilda retorted sharply, pointing a threatening finger at him again. "Head traumas can have other symptoms and effects! It's not all physical you know!"

"Yes, I know. But I waited a good hour with her, watched her eat, and drink, and I dealt with the cut before bed-," at this point Bilbo cut himself off, and by the look of despair on his face he knew just what was coming next.

"YOU LET HER SLEEP?" Hilda shrieked, causing us all to startle in our seats, though Daisy looked unworried about her mother's temper and was now staring with open curiosity at the back of my head, leaning back in her seat to get a better look. "You idiot! She might not have woken up!"

Hilda now ignored Bilbo and his cowering, and her daughter's delight in the proceedings and half dragged me to a little, cool room off to the right of the entrance hall. The entire way she muttered under her breath about Bilbo and his inability to judge the severity of issues, though she used more colourful words and curses.

The room was shaped rather like Bilbo's parlour, though smaller, but there was still a small circular window on the far wall. There was also a simple bed with a white cloth draped over it in the centre of the room, a neatly pressed pillow at the top, fresh linen piled next to a cabinet to the right and a large lamp on a side table to the left. I quickly came to the conclusion that this was her healing room.

"Have a seat," she directed, while helping me onto a white mattress. A small wooden stool helping with the step up as the bed was raised higher than the one I'd slept on last night at Bilbo's.

"Now, first things first," she said, settling into a wooden chair by the side of the bed with a serious air. "Where is the pain? And don't say there isn't any, I saw you wince when you sat down at the kitchen table."

I settled on the mattress, and not knowing what to do with my hands, let them rest on the soft linen beside me, my fingers curling anxiously around the material.

"My head and my back hurt the worse," I began to list, ticking off each pain or niggle in my head as I went. "My right ankle kind of…itches? I think that's the correct word to use, but it's a painful itch. And my knees and hands are sore, stinging really."

"All right," Hilda nodded to herself, and I could see she was mentally storing away the information. "Head injuries take priority at the moment, so I'll start with that. Where is the cut?"

"The back of my head. I didn't even realise it was there until I turned my back on Bilbo and he saw the blood in my hair."

"Show me," she ordered, but not harshly.

I dutifully went to turn and move my hair to show her, but she quickly moved around the bed so I wouldn't twist, and her hands intercepted my own, quickly finding the wound.

"Any fresh blood when you discovered it?" She asked softly.

I had to stop myself from shaking my head as she gently cradled it.

"No, no, it had already clotted."

"Well, that's something," she lamented softly, while I could feel her fingers lightly pressing on various places on my scalp, some were tender while others not so. "Any dizziness? Spotted vision? Lack of depth perception? Sensitivity to light? Did you pass out or experience any black outs?"

"Umm," I began, chewing my bottom lip, trying to piece together my foggy memory of the previous night. Had I passed out in Bilbo's home? I remember being so warm by the fire, so sleepy but that was merely tiredness, wasn't it? "I-I'm not sure. When I woke up in the field, I know I felt dizzy. But other than that I, I don't know."

"Hmm," she hummed in acknowledgement, wordlessly urging me to continue.

But I wasn't sure there was anything else to continue with. I scrambled to recall everything that had happened for anything worth telling Hilda. Some knowledgeable voice deep in my mind urged me to tell her every detail I could.

"Erm, then, when I was walking to Bilbo's I didn't really feel anything, it wasn't until I was sat by the fire in his parlour that I realised that I was cold. Bilbo said I was blue with it, and I really was, my fingernails were blue."

I looked down at my hands, as if to reassure myself that the colour had gone and was assuredly replaced by a pleasant pink. It was.

"That can be a sign of hypothermia," Hilda explained, her gentle fingers leaving my scalp and she came around to sit in front of me again.

"What's that?" I asked, but then she began inspecting my neck with gentle probing and I felt suddenly nervous again. "W-what-what are you doing?"

My nervousness didn't phase her.

"I'm checking to see if there is any damage to your neck. The wound looks as if you've fallen on something. Sometimes a fall can jar your neck, or even damage your spine. Is it tender at all?"

"No, not really, I mean, it's, it's a little stiff but I feel stiff all over."

Hilda laughed brightly. "I would be sceptical if you didn't."

She went back to probing my neck, running her hands up to my jaw too, and the back of my ears.

"Hypothermia," she explained while continuing her assessment. "It's a condition a person can experience after being exposed to cold over a long period of time, or if you're submerged in ice water and unable to warm up. The cold feels like it's coming from inside you and you can't get warm."

"Have you ever experienced it?" I asked as she pulled away from me, her hands settling in her lap.

"I have."

"Really?"

Hilda nodded, a calming smile on her lips. "Yes, I was a child and fell into the river one winter. I'd slipped on some ice on the bank and fallen in. I was sick for a long period of time."

"I'm sorry."

Her pleasant smile didn't falter. "Thank you, dear, but you needn't."

"I…I'm not sure why I said that…just…it felt like I needed to say that." I bit my lip, feeling suddenly shy. "Do people say that?"

Hilda hummed thoughtfully as she sorted through a box on the stand by the bed.

"Yes," she replied. "They do. It's a common enough manner, though in my mind needless."

I nervously fidgeted under her gaze, wondering what else was common but for me would be foreign. But then, the topic was very quickly changed and my thoughts with it.

Hilda's sharp eyes focused, as if preparing for bad news. "Now, about your head," she began.

"Yes?"

"You are going to need a couple of stitches, I'm afraid." She pulled out various tools from the box, each clean and obviously well cared for, but none sparking any knowledge as to their use. "As well as Bilbo's home remedy might have turned out, the wound is too deep to leave open."

Fear gripped me again, as did nausea, and I tore my gaze from the unknown instruments before I vomited all over them. Bilbo had told me about needles last night, but now I had a prickling sensation along my arms and the palms of my hands. In an instant I knew I did not like needles.

"Why not?" My voice luckily didn't belay my nervousness and remained steady.

Hilda seemed to have not noticed my panic, continuing to organise the equipment she would need. "Well, for one it will become infected quite quickly, hair isn't known for cleaning itself very well. Your hair may also become trapped, so the skin might heal around some strands of hair, which we do not want. And, if left open, the wound won't close up by itself, it will heal open so you'll have a, for lack of a better word, gap in your head."

Well, those were certainly not pleasant images to have rattling around my mind. "Okay, stitches it is then."

She laughed as she washed her hands in a small basin to the side of the room and then moved about the room to finish collecting everything she would need.

"It is strange though," she commented.

"What is?"

She was looking for a glass bottle in the wooden cabinet set to the side, searching among their uniformed ranks until she pulled a half empty one triumphantly. "Your injury and your memory loss, well, I don't think the two are connected."

"Why? Bilbo said that people have been known to fall and lose their memories. Couldn't that be what happened to me?"

"Yes, they can," she agreed. "Though very rarely. And, to be completely honest with you my dear, from past experience with those I've treated before with memory loss the wound is usually much worse."

This didn't make any sense. If the injury isn't the cause of my lack of recollection, then what was?

My voice grew weak, "Really?"

Hilda noticed and turned back to give me a sympathetic smile. "Yes, and when those incidences have occurred, the person who is injured will lose maybe a day, a week at most, and mostly it is because they have been unconscious all that time. Memory loss due to head trauma isn't very common."

"B-but Bilbo told me about a farmer," I argued, feeling like I was defending my memory loss, that I was trying to prove I wasn't making it up.

She nodded, arms full of carefully wrapped needles, thread, the glass bottle and several other items I wasn't confident enough to name.

"Oh, yes, he was a special circumstance indeed. We had to bring out a doctor from Bree, if you can imagine! It's about a third of a day's walk from here," she explained when she say my confusion. "The doctor thought there was something wrong with the farmer's brain, he wasn't sure if it had swollen. Like when you stump your toe and it goes red and throbs, or something of the sort. In any case, there wasn't much he could do, but luckily Farmer Throm turned out just fine."

I watched her silently for a moment, eyeing the one curved needle with trepidation and tried to hide my shaking hands in-between my knees. "Do you think the same could happen to me? That I will remember everything eventually?"

"I'm not sure, my dear," she said as she unfolded a pile of fresh cloth on her lap, and began to thread the freshly sterilised needle with carefully precision. "We shall have to wait and see."

I eyed the metal warily. "Is, is this going to hurt?"

Hilda instantly melted into the caring mother I'd fist met and reached over to take one of my trembling hands.

"I'm afraid it will."

I then scrutinised the needle with distain, wondering not for the first time if this was some sort of joke Bilbo and Hilda were playing on me. "I don't remember if I've ever been sewn up before."

Hilda laughed, eyes again bright. "It's called stitching you up dear, not sewing you up."

Well, the definition certainly didn't help.

"Stitching?" I echoed, appalled. "How is that any better? I'm not a ragged hemline needing to be mended!"

Again she laughed, looking fond. "No, you are not a ragged hemline," she chuckled. "But yes, I have to literally stitch the flesh together, it may be a poor choice of words, but it suits. Now, do you remember what would happen if the wound was left unattended?"

"I remember," I nodded, again watching the needle she was now disinfecting again carefully; she was certainly thorough about cleanliness. "It could heal open."

Hilda nodded calmly. "So I must do this."

"I know."

She gave me a quick smile, then presented me with a vial of clear liquid.

"Here," she said. "Drink this, it will help with the pain."

I cast a doubting glance her way before taking the vial and drinking the liquid in one gulp. It tasted sweet and reminded me of sweetened water, though a little thicker in consistency. Handing Hilda back the glass, she eyed me for a moment, clearly watching with the practised ease of a concerned mother as her free hand came to hover at my side, as if I were about to tip over in a faint. It only took a moment for me to feel the effects of the pain relief, but it merely felt like a numb sensation over my skin.

I shared my doubts about the medicines effect and Hilda laughed, informing me that it was a mild concoction that would help moderate the pain once she'd finished. I nodded, again knowing I couldn't very well leave the wound as it was. But knowing it would hurt and actually going through the pain of it were completely different things. To her credit, Hilda did numb the skin around the wound first, and though it provided very little pain relief in addition to the medicine, I knew without it the experience would be much worse.

I could actually feel the needle piercing my flesh and the pull of the thread through my scalp which caused me to gag a time or two, but Hilda was utterly professional, placing a bucket between my knees should I feel the need to vomit. Luckily, the bucket escaped our encounter unscathed.

"You only needed a couple of stitches," she announced, tying off the thread and finishing up.

It had not felt like a couple of stitches, but I wasn't going to tell her that, lest I sound like an ungrateful child.

Hilda proceeded to tidy away the instruments, including the bucket, cleaning and setting the needle to disinfect. I watched on, feeling a little woozy, but chalked it up to having my head pierced multiple times.

"Now, your back," Hilda announced, after washing her hands. "Would you mind removing your dress? I can help you if you need."

I nodded carefully, bashful. "Could you? I'm having trouble remembering how it comes off."

She smiled gently at me, once again the mother I'd seen when she first opened the door to myself and Bilbo. "Of course my dear, it's not the easiest thing in the world, believe you me."

She stood and helped me stand. "Feeling a little dizzy?"

Had I spoken aloud before? "Yes, a little."

"Perfectly normal," Hilda assured me. "Should settle down soon. Now, if you stand still, and hold the back of the chair if you need, I'll loosen your dress."

I quickly found that holding the chair was just what I needed as when Hilda began pulling ribbon loose behind me, I swayed dangerously with the tugging no matter how gentle she was being. I'd had no idea just how tight the garment had been, and with every give of the fabric, felt my breath come easier.

"Such a beautiful dress," she lamented, voice soft. "What a shame it's ruined. Though," she continued thoughtfully. "I may be able to hem it for you. The skirt looks in good enough condition."

This gave me pause. The dress was the only garment I owned, and even though I knew Bilbo would never let me want for clothing, I desperately wanted something that was my own.

"You could?"

"Oh yes," she answered. "I know Dwarrowdams prefer full length gowns but a Hobbit's dress is always hemmed short as our feet can take on the elements. In fact, I think the shorter fashion will suit you better my dear, you have the figure for it."

"Thank you, I-,"

 _Dwarrowdam._

How did she know? Had Bilbo told her? No, I'd been with him the entire time. But then how?

"Don't fret," she soothed, immediately noticing my distress, a cool hand came to rest on my shoulder. "I saw your ears and feet and put it together myself."

"Oh," I failed to form any other words.

Hilda carried on loosening the bodice. Finally I found my voice again.

"Thank you."

"For what, my dear?" She asked over the ragged sound of ribbon pulling through fabric.

"For being kind."

She stopped for a moment, then I felt a hand stroke my hair back from my neck and place it over my shoulder. The movement was so loving, it felt motherly, warm and comforting.

"You are very welcome," she answered, voice soft, before setting about with the bodice again.

It wasn't long after that when I felt the dress give, slipping off my shoulders and down my arms until it caught in my elbows. I looked down and saw pale linen wrapped around my torso tightly.

Hilda sighed behind me.

"Stays," she explained. "No wonder you're in so much pain, you're laced in tighter than you should be."

As she set about loosening the contraption she answered my unspoken question.

"It's an undergarment, used to hold your chest in place under the dress. Though I must say I've not seen one as extravagant as this…ever."

"Extravagant?"

"It's embroidered."

I looked down again, and sure enough, she was right. Green and red thread wove minute figures of flowers around the edge of the stays. It was quite pretty. The idea of such delicate work on something so obviously concocted to inflict pain and discomfort made me uncomfortable. The dress too had been tightly set, the loss of tension around my shoulders and upper arms felt keenly. Surely I would not have been able to do so to myself? Someone must have helped me get dressed, as Hilda is helping me now. But who?

At last, the stays gave way and I instantly took a deep breath, wincing and crying out in pain as I did so. Hilda's calming hand on my shoulder held me steady when I swayed.

"Just try to breathe normally," she coached in serene tones. "You'll need to get used to not wearing it again."

With tightly shut eyes I nodded. The pain of my ribs ebbing like flames of a long burning fire, in a word: reluctantly.

"Well," Hilda began. "That's an awfully nice bruise you have."

Gasping for breath, I managed to speak, "I'm bruised?"

"From shoulder to hip I'm afraid."

I blew out another painful breath. "No wonder it hurts so much."

"I'm just going to check your ribs."

She gently pressed along my back, tracing to the edges of the bruise I assume, humming to herself from time to time. She occasionally asked me questions, how painful was it to breathe? Did this hurt? Are you struggling to breathe at all? When all her questions had been answered, she helped me take the fabric off completely and threw it onto the bed. While it was certainly beautiful, it was a contraption of evil, I was sure. I looked down and saw that the bones of it had left matching imprints on my skin, red and bold.

"You will not be wearing stays for a while, about a week I think, so the bruises can heal. Here," she handed me some cloth wrappings. "You'll need to wrap your chest up for support without it I'm afraid. But it will be more comfortable than that blasted thing, I can promise you that. But on the bright side, your ribs don't appear to be badly damaged, just bruised like the rest of you."

I took the wrapping gratefully, relived I wasn't more seriously injured.

"Thank you Hilda."

"It's not a problem, my dear. The real problem is my idiot cousin out there," she jerked her thumb at the door. "And his lack of medical knowledge."

I stifled a laugh imagining Bilbo being forcefully taught proper medical practise by a vigilant Hilda. She helped me wrap my chest, keeping her eyes respectfully adverted to my back. Then she helped me dress again, threading the ribbons back in place with great care and much looser than it had been.

"Let's see to that ankle next. I'm wondering how it could possibly itch."

"It's a very painful itch," I said as I sat again, feeling grateful to be rid of the stays once again as I found I could sit in comfort, though mindful of my sore torso. "As if I've knocked a bite or sting embedded in my skin. I remember being stung by a bee once and it's a similar pain, though stronger."

Hilda nodded and lifted my foot carefully, resting it on her thigh, and respectfully not commenting on my memory.

She didn't even have to poke or prod my flesh to see the problem. "Ahh, here we are," she announced.

"What is it?" I asked, slightly fearful of looking and seeing something that would once again turn my stomach. I'd been dutifully ignoring the pain until now, hoping it was just my body protesting the abuse I assumed it had been through.

I could feel her fingers lightly tracing around the painful sensation above my foot, in the venerable hollow of my ankle bone.

"You've got a rather large splinter of wood just here," she touched nearer to the mark than before to show me, the sensation of her cool finger against my heated flesh making me flinch and she quickly apologised. "The itching sensation you are feeling is probably the result of your body trying to push the offensive piece of wood out."

How bizarre.

"It can do that?" I questioned dumbly.

"Oh, yes," she answered knowingly, reaching for metal pincers on the table. "Though, larger pieces like this would take a very long while indeed."

"I wonder how I did it."

She hummed, and set to her task.

The rest of the examination carried on much the same, thoughtful hums, informative descriptions of my injuries, and passing remarks of ambiguous small talk. Once my leg was rid of wooden splinters, gently cleaned to get rid of any Hilda couldn't see and wrapped, she examined my hands and feet, which had luckily only sustained a few cuts.

"Just scrapes on your hands and feet, looks like you were running barefoot and tripped. Your dress saved your knees from a similar fate," Hilda commented, once again looking at my dress forlornly.

Back in the kitchen, Bilbo and Daisy were playing a card game I did not recognise. It looked as though Daisy was winning, though not on purpose judging by Bilbo's sour pout. There was another seated Hobbit, who I assumed to be Dinodas, watching over the game with a fond smile, a mug of steaming tea in hand.

"Momma! Miss Flower!" Daisy called when she caught sight of us. "Come look! I'm winning!"

"So it would appear you are," Hilda praised, a teasing smile warming on her lips. "Does Cousin Bilbo not know how to play?"

Bilbo harrumphed indignantly, cheeks beginning to redden.

"I most certainly do know how to play Gin Rummy, I'm just surprised that your daughter does!"

Dinodas only laughed. "Taught her myself, she clears me out now if we ever play for sweeties."

He caught sight of me behind his wife and smiled. He had a pleasant face, soft and kind. Where his wife and child's heads were downed in soft brown curls, his own were as black as ink. He had a comfortable air about him, leaning back in a time softened chair, arms propped up on a cushion in a way that led me to believe this was the way he always sat in that particular chair.

"Hello there," he greeted me, not moving to rise. "Dinodas, pleased to meet you."

"You as well, I'm, I'm F-Flower," the greeting caught in my throat when I uttered my new name, but Daisy beamed encouragingly up at me, urging me to become familiar with it.

"Bilbo and Miss Flower are here in business, Dinodas," Hilda informed her husband.

"Oh?" He turned to Bilbo with a cocked eyebrow. "I thought I'd paid you back?"

Bilbo nodded, eyed fixed on his cards. "You have."

Hilda though, was quick to pin down her husband with a stare I imagine wasn't often used.

"Paid Bilbo back for what?" She asked innocently, though there was nothing innocent about her crossed arms and stern expression.

"Nothing dear, nothing," was his hasty response as he sunk a little into his chair.

Hilda hummed thoughtfully again, but going by the uncomfortable swallow Dinodas made of a mouthful of tea at the sound, I was willing to bet it was more of a warning sound to him.

Bilbo and Daisy paid the two no mind, focused entirely on their game. That was, until Daisy slammed down her cards, triumphantly exclaiming, "Gin!"

Her opponent's left eye twitched, he then threw down his own cards and began muttering to himself about never playing that wretched game again. All the while across from him, a gleeful little Hobbit raked in her winnings: a handful of little paper wrapped balls.

"Thank you Cousin Bilbo," she said, positively radiant with pleasure in her win. "I love peppermints!"

Peppermints, I know those, they're sweets! I recalled the phantom taste of one on the back of my tongue. A soft, creamy treat, and one I didn't remember eating very much of. Yet I had the distinct feeling this wasn't because I didn't like them.

Bilbo was on his feet next, sparing his cousin's daughter a fond if not exasperated glance, before giving me a reassuring smile.

"How are you?" He asked.

"Very well, Hilda patched me up."

Said lady of the smial began to laugh. "She's all stitched up and ready to go."

I chose to ignore her quip at my indignation of the correct name for sewing someone up and asked Bilbo if we were staying for another game.

Whilst his face soured, Daisy's brightened. "Oh, yes please!" She chirped.

"I don't have any more peppermints!" He burst, much to her amusement. "You've cleaned me out, I'd have to go and buy more, and some of those were meant for Miss Flower whilst we went walking."

Daisy didn't like that we might be leaving, and then positively shrunk into her seat when she heard some of the sweets were meant for me. Surprisingly me entirely, she grabbed half of the handful and came over to me, placing them in one of my hands which she positioned so I was holding them myself.

"We can share," she informed me. "And then next time you come over, we can both play against Cousin Bilbo for them!"

I had to laugh at her tenacity. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, but I'm afraid you'll have to teach me how to play first, as I don't know the game."

Daisy shrugged. "No matter, it doesn't take long. I'll teach you!"

"I can't wait."

Whilst we chatted, I noticed Bilbo approaching and then talking quietly with Hilda. The conversation didn't look too serious and I gathered that Hilda was only telling Bilbo about my injuries.

Suddenly, our conversations stopped at the same time and a beat of silence passed before Bilbo cleared his throat. Dinodas just sipped his tea as he watched us all, an easy smile waiting between drinks.

"I was hoping to take Miss Flower around the village," Bilbo began. "If you'll agree she's able to. I know she would like to join me, but if you say she isn't ready for such exhaustion then we will save the walk for another day."

Hilda smiled, looking far more at ease than when we entered the smial. "That should be fine, Bilbo. Just keep an eye on how far you're walking."

She turned to me. "If you feel tired or short of breath, tell Bilbo and he'll take you home to rest. If you start to develop head pain, a headache, or sensitivity to light, come here immediately, I don't care what time of night it is."

"Of course Hilda."

"Your stitches will need to come out in a week or so. If you come back every four days perhaps, I can check on them regularly." She smiled. "Maybe even get them out early if you're lucky."

I wasn't sure I wanted to be lucky given her gleeful smile.

"And if you should ever need anything else, and I really do mean anything, we are here."

"Thank you, for everything, really," I began to feel emotional as I realised how much this little trip had given me, feeling keenly the physical evidence of their kindness in the peppermints I still held. "If it weren't for you, I'd have so many unanswered questions still."

I turned to Daisy, wondering if it would be improper for me to hug her.

"And if it weren't for you, I wouldn't have a name."

She decided to answer my unvoiced question and launched herself at me, wrapping her tiny arms about my waist and burying her face into my side. I winced, but was careful to withhold any noise of pain.

From within the folds of my dress and her tumble of curls I heard Daisy reply, "You're very welcome."

* * *

 **Thank you for reading! Hope you liked it!**


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